Amen
by TolkienScholar
Summary: Oneshot. Mister Roberts regrets being kept away from the combat of WWII, until he discovers that Booksey is in far deeper distress.


**As two of my favorite old movies, _Mister Roberts_ and _Father Goose_ , take place at roughly the same time, I decided to explore the possibility of a connection between the two. I have an affection for both little Jenny from _Father Goose_ and the young sailor Bookser from _Mister Roberts_ (played by the son of John Wayne), and I thought they were visually similar enough to pass as siblings. Hence, this fic. Enjoy.**

 **Note: The dialogue uses the nickname for the Japanese commonly used during this period. No offense intended.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Mister Roberts_ or _Father Goose_. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

Doug folded his hands on the table as Doc went to shut off the radio. War news. The Japs had taken another island in the Pacific. And he? He had just delivered another load of oranges and toilet paper to a ship that was actually going to see combat. Why did he even listen anymore? He was never going to get there.

"Take it easy, Doug," Frank said. "At least you're not the poor guy who was stationed on that island."

Doug looked at his roommate, lounging on the lower bunk because he was too lazy to climb the three steps up to his own. "He died for his country, Frank," he said. "I think I'd rather be him right now." He sighed.

Frank shot up. "Don't say that, Doug. Doc, tell him not to say that!"

Doug looked up at the middle-aged doctor, who shrugged. "Personally, I agree with Frank on this one," he said.

Doug sighed again. "Where's Booksey? He was supposed to be here to take my letter up to the captain."

"So the old man can mark it 'disapproved' again?" Frank said. "Face it, Doug, you're not gonna get off this bucket as long as the captain won't approve your request for transfer. So just be glad you won't end up getting killed. Just relax—like yours truly."

"And thus is the wisdom of Ensign Frank Thurlough Pulver." Doug shook his head. "I'm going to go look for Booksey." He grabbed his letter and left the room.

* * *

Booksey was on deck, leaning out over the railing. Except for the watchman, the deck was otherwise deserted, the sun long ago sunk below the horizon. Doug paused at the top of the steps, watching the boy's profile. Something was wrong. Booksey's head was hanging down almost to his chest, and his entire body looked tight, anxious.

Doug joined him on the rail, casting a look at him that was just long enough to take in his white face and the tears in his eyes.

Booksey looked up and then quickly away. "I—I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts," he stammered. "I was coming to—to get your letter, and—The radio, sir—" His voice broke, and he trailed off, staring down into the sea.

Doug put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Booksey?"

"My sister, sir." The words seemed to burst out of him. "She's there, on the island where the Japs are. With a governess and some other girls, and—Sir, I don't know—" He pulled away from Doug's hand and brushed hard at the tears running down his cheeks.

Doug nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Booksey. I truly am." His own disappointment at not being in the war seemed suddenly petty. It was one thing for a man to die in service of his country; it was another for a little girl's life to be suddenly cut short as the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. "We just have to hope that there was enough warning for them to have gotten the women and children out of there. I wish there was something more comforting I could say."

Booksey said nothing.

"Have you prayed about it?" Doug asked after a moment.

The boy's head jerked up. "You pray, sir?"

"Of course. Every night. Do you?"

Booksey lowered his head again. "I used to," he mumbled.

Doug took a step closer and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder again. "And why did you stop?"

"The other men, sir," Booksey answered. "They already think I'm just a kid. I—I started to get down on my knees the first night I was here, and then I saw that none of them did. I thought they'd think—that praying was childish."

Doug shook his head. "Booksey. What would it matter if they did? They'd be the ones in the wrong. God knows we men at sea need His protection more than just about anyone else." He smiled. "If we don't forsake Him, He'll never forsake us. Isn't the comfort of that worth a bit of teasing?"

Booksey's cheeks were burning. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Doug smiled again. "Don't tell me. Tell Him." He gestured upward. "Shall I pray now?"

Booksey nodded mutely.

"What's your sister's name?"

"Jenny."

"How old is she?"

"Six."

Doug paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he got down on his knees by the railing. Booksey did the same.

 _O Lord our God, the Great Protector, the Maker of the sea and the Preserver of those who travel on it_ —

 _I come to You tonight on behalf of Your son Booksey._

 _Lord, he has allowed fear and shame to keep him from coming to You these past months, and for this, he is truly sorry. I ask that You give him strength and courage to remain faithful to You from now on in spite of what others may think._

 _Lord, we are concerned tonight for Booksey's little sister Jenny. Man, Your creation, to whom You have given free will, can do terrible things to others if he does not know You. War is one of those things. Little Jenny is now in the midst of it, and Lord, we are afraid for her. Place Your almighty hand as a shield about her and those with whom she is staying. Hide her from the enemy and protect her._

 _You alone are the Almighty, our strength and shield._

 _Amen._

"Amen," Booksey's voice echoed. He was smiling.


End file.
